'Ah me! Ah me!'
As there was something mournful in his sigh, Rosa, in touching him
with her tea-cup, ventured to touch him with her small hand too.
'Thank you, my dear,' said Mr. Grewgious. 'Ahem! Let's talk!'
'Do you always live here, sir?' asked Rosa.
'Yes, my dear.'
'And always alone?'
'Always alone; except that I have daily company in a gentleman by
the name of Bazzard, my clerk.'
'HE doesn't live here?'
'No, he goes his way, after office hours. In fact, he is off duty
here, altogether, just at present; and a firm down-stairs, with
which I have business relations, lend me a substitute. But it
would be extremely difficult to replace Mr. Bazzard.'
'He must be very fond of you,' said Rosa.
'He bears up against it with commendable fortitude if he is,'
returned Mr. Grewgious, after considering the matter. 'But I doubt
if he is. Not particularly so. You see, he is discontented, poor
fellow.'
'Why isn't he contented?' was the natural inquiry.
'Misplaced,' said Mr. Grewgious, with great mystery.
Rosa's eyebrows resumed their inquisitive and perplexed expression.
'So misplaced,' Mr. Grewgious went on, 'that I feel constantly
apologetic towards him. And he feels (though he doesn't mention
it) that I have reason to be.'
Mr. Grewgious had by this time grown so very mysterious, that Rosa
did not know how to go on. While she was thinking about it Mr.
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